


Warlike (rebellous by heart)

by OnlyOneWoman



Series: A Simple Man [7]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Amends for the real Ned Low, And lots of rum, Blood and Violence, Canon Era, F/M, Genderfluid Character, Genderqueer, M/M, Mary Read POV, Memories, Ned Low has respect for women, Rape Aftermath, Snippet, Tenderness, Which makes sense according to history, i think, secrecy, some historical accuracy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 22:34:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21345844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyOneWoman/pseuds/OnlyOneWoman
Summary: The name Mark means warlike and Mary means rebellion. A snippet POV Mary Read NO ONE asked for, but I'm too deep in this mess now. (Thank you again, E_A_Phoenix.)I'm not sure if genderqueer or genderfluid character makes sense with Mark/Mary Read but on the other hand, my own gender doesn't make much sense to me either so :p
Relationships: Mary Read/Husband (mentioned)
Series: A Simple Man [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1530410
Comments: 18
Kudos: 12





	Warlike (rebellous by heart)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rising_Phoenix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rising_Phoenix/gifts).

She had a husband once, a soldier who didn’t act like one. Not with her. A decent man, believe it or not, and there are times when she misses him. Not at night though. He snored something horribly and hogged the blankets.  
  
Mark – she prefers to think of herself in that name, that way it becomes easier to not slip into the past – is curling into the captain’s bunk, her entire body still sore and aching. The hands bruised her breasts, ripped the binder and then the trousers. First, it seemed as if Porter, the rigger with wild gaze and horrible breath, would not just rape her but reveal her secret as well. Once he realised the boy was a girl, he’d given a sick chuckle and then just… slipped from one entrance to the other.  
  
She’d thought it all over, her life about to end while being passed around until Captain Low and the crew got tired of her and fed her to the sea. She’d heard the rumors, of course. The whispers drowning from wild tales, barely audible breaths about how the infamous Captain of the Fancy didn’t allow rape of women, girls or boys. It seemed unlikely, too good to be true, but a few among the crew on the ship Mark currently served on had become suspicious about the young seaman’s secrecy and well, as horrible a fate the men faced once The Fancy raided them, the Captain who’d appeared like a devil in the flesh had allowed Mark to live, to join them if he wished to.  
  
Mark pulls the thick blanket closer around her. She’s not with child, that’s a mercy she can thank Captain Low for as well as the one of being alive and having a bunk. Still, he scares her. The way he looks at the crew, at the prizes, the shivering victims of his raids as he cuts them open.  
  
Only men, never women. Never boys or girls too young to be married. It’s the grown men who wake up that flare of anger, of hatred and disgust, like he’s looking at the scum of the Earth with that one seeing eye. The men like him for his lack of hesitation, for the control he so easily lets loose and lets them throw away too. How he looks at them like a proud father when they dig in like wolves at the prey.  
  
Ned Low is a cruel man, ruthless and fearless, but the indifference he’s displaying doesn’t make sense when he lets Mark live, the lack of harshness and mean words when helping her aching, swollen privates to get rid of what could be not just the end of her disguise but her life as well.  
  
_Mary… Mark… Wha’s a single letter?_  
  
Apparantly the difference between life and death. Mary, as the Captain now knows her by, feels like she and the rest of the crew, actually know Ned Low far less than they thought. And as soon as _Mary _has healed enough, _Mark_ will look for another position.  
  
***  
  
True to his word, Low makes sure she’s left alone. Far too alone, as a matter of fact. Mary has never liked being still and early in the morning when she’s in dire need of the privy but can’t stand the thought of alerting Mr. Meeks who’s snoring outside like he was paid in pieces of eight, she can hear soft steps, a mumbling and then the door creaks.  
  
“Captain?”  
“Ye’re awake, lass?”  
  
Mary makes a small grimaze as she tries to sit up and the Captain is there, practically reeking from sex but much to her surprise, it’s not the same you get from the whorehouse. It’s more musky and in the midst of trying to keep herself quiet, Mary realises that her Captain has his own secrets.  
  
“P-please, help me?”  
“Privy?”  
“Y-yes…”  
“Hold on then.”  
  
He makes no more comment, just helps her up, surprisingly gentle and supported on him, she stumbles towards the Captain’s private privy. The business once she gets seated is very painful and the embarressment she feels for this man to see her this weak is just horrible. It’s only when she opens her eyes a little that she sees he’s not turned towards her, but has turned around, only standing close enough for her to get support should she need it.  
  
When she’s finally done, pain still burning, she stumbles up, reaching for the unbleched jacket and the Captain really does let her hold on until she can pull the breeches back and then he leads her back to the bunk. It’s in that moment, while being supported and biting back grunts of pain, that Mary realises what this strange gesture reminds her of: a husband supporting his wife during childbirth.  
  
But Captain Low has no wife, is no father. And before Mary can think more of it, there’s a bottle of rum placed between her lips and she swallows willingly. If she’s ever gonna be able of leaving this ship on two legs and not in a sack, she needs her strenght. Needs to heal while she can. And in the bunk of Captain Low, Mary finds her dreams to be sweeter than usual, filled with the thrill of battles, the passion for war running through her blood since the first time she saw a soldier and her father crushed her dreams by laughing when she said she wanted to be one of them too.  
  
_You, my sweet girl, will become a woman. You will marry a soldier, Mary, you will carry sons and they too will be soldiers. You will be a wife and mother of soldiers, how about that?_  
  
She’d not liked the idea of that future at all. Her dreams were those of war and, in the darkness of her bed, the face she dreamed of would be sometimes a man, sometimes a woman. It took time before she realised the woman wasn’t always herself.  
  
There’s a hand running through her short hair and again, her mind now slowly slipping into sleep, paints an image of another man than the ruthless Captain. Not a husband this time, but a father. To whom she doesn’t know. Maybe a son with scraped knees or a daughter with sunshine in her eyes. Despite the pain and discomfort, there’s a part of Mary that feels something new within the man sitting by her side at the bunk. Her now not too coherent thoughts grasp for crumbles of hidden kindness, the knowledge of a woman’s body without the want to use it.  
  
She’s not gonna marry another soldier, nor will she carry the child of her rapist and the traces of blood still visible on the floor, isn’t hers, but the man who forced himself onto her – and the monster who kept her secret. And the gentle sway of the ship finally lulls her and her secret to sleep. She lost this battle, but not the war.


End file.
